


Double Blind

by babzilla



Series: Rescuing Princes (For Fun and Profit) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Meetings, Gen, Healthy Parental Relationships, His Royal Highness Prince Luke Organa, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Rogue One, Prince Luke Skywalker, Role Swap AU, Self-Esteem Issues, in this house we love and respect ONE (1) Star Wars father and his name is Bail Organa, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babzilla/pseuds/babzilla
Summary: “Though it begs the question of why you’re consorting with such a character, Your Highness,” the bounty hunter drawls, scenting new prey. “One has to wonder what the Prince of Alderaan is doing, associating with known Rebels.”Well, he’s got a point there.—Prince Luke Organa didn't expect his first solo meeting with a Rebel spy to be interrupted by a bounty hunter, of all things. He especially didn't expect his attempts to de-escalate to actually work.
Relationships: Bail Organa & Luke Skywalker, Boba Fett & Luke Skywalker, Cassian Andor & Luke Skywalker
Series: Rescuing Princes (For Fun and Profit) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966174
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	Double Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I want to be clear that nothing of the shipping variety happens in this fic as Luke is underaged. The pre-relationship tag is just there as a reference— this series is intended to be Boba/Luke.

It’s not his first time accompanying his father on a Rebellion assignment disguised as a relief mission, but at sixteen galactic standard years old, it is the first time he’s been sent off on his own to secure the intel their operative had acquired and to facilitate their escape from a planet simply crawling with Imperial Stormtroopers.

It was certainly exciting, of course, but Luke would also own the anxiety that thrummed gently through his body, nerves alight as he slipped his guard and calmly walked among the people, clasping hands with the locals, giving alms to little children, and generally reassuring the populace that despite the Empire’s aggression, Alderaan and its people would do all they could to ease their suffering. And if, while he worked his way through the still-buzzing marketplace, he happened to catch someone’s eye or allowed himself to be gently steered towards more out of the way walkways… well, of course as a visitor he would need help in finding his way around. 

And if he should get lost and lose the Imperial agents on his tail in the process— then that was hardly his fault.

Moving silently through progressively emptier streets and alleyways, Luke gave every outward appearance of being exactly where he was meant to be; posture upright and expression pleasantly placid, but naturally so as befit his station as the Crown Prince of Alderaan and his mother’s heir. Inside his own head, he struggled to achieve the same serenity— he held a man’s life in his hands, and with the intel the agent was due to bring them, then potentially the lives of many more people depended on the success of his mission. He couldn’t let them down.

He _wouldn’t_.

Steeling himself, Luke turned the final corner, immediately identifying the rendezvous point as the run-down shack with the faded blue tapestry hanging over the doorway, looking much like many of the other dwellings on the small dirt path. Out of the way, but not so much so as to be outside the realm of possibility for him to wander across while trying to find his way back to his own party. Dilapidated, but not so much as to be an obvious location for a clandestine meeting. Unassuming, normal for the neighbourhood. 

And, hopefully, beneath the notice of the Empire.

Lifting his chin, he knocks twice on the worn wood of the door, lifting the tapestry out of the way and not hesitating to duck inside.

He recognises Cassian Andor immediately, of course. They’d seen each other often enough during the Rebellion’s secret meetings, always sitting across large holotables, studying the same maps and projections of the Empire’s movements. 

The advantage, Luke thought, of constantly being positioned at his father’s elbow during meetings, was that he had seen the faces of a great many Rebel agents, and a great many of them had seen him in turn. His father’s loyalty and dedication to freeing the galaxy from the Emperor’s rule was unquestionable, and so, by association, Luke’s face was as good as an all-access pass into the confidences of any agent of the Rebellion working in the field.

At the unquestionable relief that flashed momentarily across Captain Andor’s face, Luke understood that the man was ready to put his trust in him, and he also understood that it would be unforgivable to let him down now. Faced with the object of his mission, Luke suddenly felt calm, his earlier worries and anxieties fading into the background when looking at the real, living _person_ that was depending on him. 

He wouldn’t fail.

However, all his resolve was almost for naught when a bounty hunter smashed through the thatched roof of the shack, freezing Andor in place with a blaster at the ready.

For a moment, nobody spoke and nobody moved.

And then, before he could overthink it, he had inserted himself between the two men, hands raised to show he was unarmed.

“Wait, please stop!” He cried, facing the bounty hunter head on, straight-backed and unheeding of the blaster now pointed at him. “Why are you attacking him?”

“Your Highness!” Andor hissed urgently, trying to move him.

But Luke planted his feet, spreading his arms and grabbing onto the Rebel agent’s wrists as best he could, his grip as tight as a vice.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” the man said slowly, cocking his helmeted head to the side, as if speaking to a particularly dim animal. “He’s a bounty.”

Taking advantage of the man’s condescending attitude, Luke pushed on before he could continue, running a practiced eye across the man’s armour (obviously Mandalorian) and his collection of weapons (worryingly numerous). “Why? What has he done?”

Tilting his head the other way, the bounty hunter gave Luke an obvious once-over, visibly wondering at his intelligence, or else contemplating whether or not to just shoot him and be done with it.

“The Empire believes him to be a Rebel spy, and they’re paying handsomely for him, which means— now that I’ve found him, the bounty is mine,” he answers after a moment, gesturing idly with his free hand, obviously secure in the belief that shooting either Luke or the man behind him would be a simple business requiring little effort.

“Though it begs the question of why you’re consorting with such a character, Your Highness,” the bounty hunter drawls, scenting new prey. “One has to wonder what the Prince of Alderaan is doing, associating with known Rebels.”

Well, he’s got a point there.

“He’s my lover!” Luke blurts out before he can stop himself, hoping that the tremor in his voice reads only as nervousness to be admitting such a thing, and not because he’s lying through his _teeth_.

It gives the bounty hunter pause, if nothing else.

“How old are you?” He says incredulously.

Luke lifts his chin, affecting the same haughty demeanour he turns on any of the Imperial Admiralty whenever they try to dig at what they perceive to be the House of Organa’s most obvious weak spot.

“I don’t see how that should matter to you,” he says frostily and the bounty hunter laughs unkindly.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” he concedes before motioning with his blaster. “But as sweet as I’m sure this—arrangement of yours—is, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s got a bounty, and you’re in my way.”

Cutting his eyes at him, Luke decides that he has seen enough of this man to know there would be no appealing to his better nature in order to convince him into letting them go.

But there’s an easy enough solution to that problem.

“I’ll pay you!” He declares, squeezing harder at Andor’s wrists when the man tenses as if wanting to move. “Whatever bounty the Empire has placed on his head, I’ll match it.”

The bounty hunter laughs again. “A generous offer, but I’ve already called it in.”

Luke resists the urge to scowl at that, keeping his face free of any expression that would read as anything other than worry for a presumed lover. The bounty hunter certainly has a very high opinion of himself, to declare success before actually securing his target.

“Say he took me hostage,” he offers, thinking quickly. “Say you saved my life and he got away. And when you return me to my father, he will also reward you. You could name your price.”

Luke knows immediately that the bounty hunter will take the deal. 

Greed is such a simple emotion. And so easy to leverage.

Still, the man in front of him makes a show of considering the offer. Luke doesn’t squirm under the obvious posturing, no matter how his guts are churning; acutely aware of the danger he’s facing and sick with worry over the pain his parents would feel should anything happen to him.

“Do you carry enough credits on your person to pay for his freedom, Your Highness? What guarantee do I have that I’ll receive everything you’re offering?” The bounty hunter needles, and Luke does scowl openly at that.

“As you say, I am the Prince of Alderaan; my name is my guarantee,” he says vehemently.

Letting the words linger for a moment, Luke releases one of Andor’s arms—noticeably not his shooting arm— and removes his personal credit chit from his belt, tossing it easily to the bounty hunter.

“If that’s not enough, I can have the remainder added to whatever you ask of my father,” he nods magnanimously. “For my gratitude.”

Eyeing the balance on the credit chit for longer than necessary, the bounty hunter finally nods his assent, pocketing the chit.

“Let’s go then,” he says, holstering his blaster and holding out his hand to the Prince in a mocking display of chivalry.

“A moment,” Luke says instead, taking several steps back and forcing Andor to give ground until they’re at enough of a distance from the bounty hunter that Luke judges they will have some modicum of privacy.

Ignoring the vulture watching them for the moment, he spins around and throws his arms around the Rebel agent, unwilling to feel embarrassed by the bright flush of his cheeks. He’s already committed to this charade, he can’t go for half-measures at the last moment.

And he still has a mission.

“Cassian,” he sighs, hoping he sounds appropriately lovesick as he plasters himself against the Rebel agent, hands flattening against the man’s back and silently tapping out the staccato beat of a Rebel code at the dip of his waist, where the reinforced fabric of his jacket is thinnest. He hopes the barebones directions will be enough to get the man around the Imperial Stormtroopers and safely on to the Tantive IV before they take off.

Nodding silently into Luke’s shoulder, Andor squeezes his shoulders once before pulling away, his hands sliding down the length of Luke’s arms until he can clasp his fingers. Looking deeply into his eyes, Andor bows over Luke’s hands, placing a gentle kiss across his knuckles. 

The movement is so smooth that he only just feels the brilliant little sleight of hand that deposits what is clearly a data chip underneath one of Luke’s silver bracelets, fitting snugly into the little slot designed in them for exactly that purpose. Whatever else could be said about the excessive pageantry that was the process of dressing royalty, Luke could only be glad that there was always a surprising amount of subterfuge involved in the whole ordeal.

Slowly stepping away as the Rebel Captain holds his bow for a long moment, Luke allows a small smile through his mask before he turns away, wiping his face of all expression as he looks again to the bounty hunter.

He’s standing much closer than before, and it’s only his training as a Prince that stops Luke from immediately taking a step back again in alarm.

“It occurs to me,” the bounty hunter says, gesturing at Luke, “That you don’t much look like someone who has recently been taken hostage.”

Luke doesn’t need to look at his outfit—spotlessly white from the half-length cape draped across his shoulders all the way down to his boots, even after standing in the dirt—to know that the man is correct in his assessment.

“It would be better—for all of us—” the bounty hunter says in a tone that Luke immediately mislikes, “—if you weren’t awake for the next part.”

He can feel Andor tense at his back, but Luke doesn’t quail under the bounty hunter’s gaze.

“And what guarantee do I have that you will not simply continue with the Empire’s bounty once I am unconscious?”

The man shrugs carelessly. “I’m a man of the Guild. I’ve already accepted credits for your task, not the Empire’s.”

Luke considers that seriously. It is an argument that is not so different from his defence of his own trustworthiness. While Alderaan has minimal contact with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild, as Prince, Luke has received extensive tutoring on all legal entities within the Empire. 

And the Guild _was_ a legal entity. If the bounty hunter went back on his word, Luke’s credit chit would be easy enough to trace; and a complaint lodged against him by the Prince of Alderaan would surely result in the man immediately being censured by the Guild. Something that no bounty hunter could afford, not if they intended to keep their career.

It was a gamble. But not any more than the risk the bounty hunter was taking on his further payment.

“Very well,” he nods. “I would have your name, bounty hunter.”

“So glad you agree,” the bounty hunter says sardonically as he nodded back. “And the name is Boba Fett.”

With that said, he takes a step forward while reaching into his belt. No doubt to retrieve a knock-out drug used to take in bounties that were wanted alive, Luke thought grimly. 

But this, finally, Andor would not accept; grabbing Luke and bodily moving him out of the way with only the barest whisper of an apology, the man blocks the bounty hunter’s path.

“You will not touch him,” he says fiercely, holding out his hand. “Let me see that— I will do it.”

The bounty hunter—Boba Fett—accepting that Luke was his client and apparently very dedicated to his job, completely ignores the man and tilts his head toward the Prince.

Luke nods back silently and watches as the man shrugs again, handing off the dart to Andor. They don’t speak as the Rebel agent inspects the dart, carefully unscrewing the vial of knock-out drug from the main delivery system, shaking the vial to check the viscosity, and even sniffing at the liquid inside. Once he was satisfied that it was safe to use, Andor turns to Luke, wary but determined.

Allowing himself to fidget with his silver bracelets in an outward show of nerves, an action that neatly disguises the twisting movement that locked them into place around his wrists, Luke made a show of taking a deep breath before nodding.

“Do it,” he orders gently.

Not hesitating, Andor steps forward, his hand quickly coming up to Luke’s neck. The needle hardly feels like anything against his skin, but almost immediately he feels woozy, hands flying up to grab onto the Captain. Regardless of how he agreed to being drugged unconscious, it takes Luke a moment to calm himself out of the momentary panic that flares through him when he misses his grab for the Captain’s arm, stumbling. 

As the world around him starts to darken, Luke can only vaguely register the feeling of another pair of hands on him as his legs give out, the bounty hunter’s voice the last thing he hears.

“I’ve got you, Your Highness.”

*

Luke comes awake all at once.

He is lying in the Tantive IV’s small med bay, and his father is sitting beside him, gently holding Luke’s hand while he silently studies a datapad. They are in hyperspace, and the med bay is otherwise empty.

Luke blinks, confused for a moment before his last moments of awareness come back to him in a rush. His father, having long committed all of his son’s mannerisms to memory, immediately senses his anxiety and, placing the datapad aside, rises from his seat.

“Luke,” he says, smiling softly though it does nothing to hide his concern as he smooths back his son’s hair.

For a moment, Luke allows himself to close his eyes and let his spirit be soothed, feeling entirely safe under his father’s watch. _But only for a moment_ , he thinks as he reminds himself of the reason why he had ended up in the med bay.

“You had us all worried,” his father says, hand stilling over Luke’s hair to gently cradle his head.

“I’m sorry,” Luke apologises automatically, hating to cause either of his parents any strife.

But his father only shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have put you in such a position, Luke— _I’m_ the one who should be sorry.”

Luke bites his lip at that, fighting the tears that threaten to spill out. It’s not a recrimination. He _knows_ it’s not— neither of his parents have ever made him feel unworthy or unequal to their love and support; have never given him cause to think that they disapprove of who he is, of how he chooses to comport himself.

But still—

“Are you very disappointed?” He can’t help but ask in a small voice, feeling like a child again who has failed all of his lessons; overwhelmed and struggling under the weight of the expectations that have been placed on his shoulders by what, at times, feels like all of the known universe.

As always, his father is nothing less than a familiar and steady source of comfort in the face of his anxieties, shaking his head and squeezing Luke’s hand.

“Never, my son,” he intones solemnly, taking both of Luke’s hands into his own. “I never should have placed you in such danger, and all I can do is beg your forgiveness. I only want to know what happened.”

Taking in his father’s words, Luke can only shake his head at the notion that Bail Organa would need to beg anything from his son, much less his forgiveness. 

“N-no, no— there’s nothing to fo-forgive, I, it—” he stutters, now doubly reminded of his childhood inadequacies, stumbling over his words while his father gently shushes him, guiding him through an oft-utilised breathing exercise.

Counting his breaths, he once again swallows the lump in his throat and does his best to steady himself before trying again.

“It started well. I wasn’t followed, and I made contact without trouble,” he says, determinedly meeting his father’s eyes, his voice growing stronger as he finds his rhythm. “It was just bad luck— a bounty hunter had found our agent and they made a play to capture him for the Empire.”

He takes another deep breath as his father hisses his own concern at that development, squeezing Luke’s hands again and nodding for him to continue.

“I— resolved the issue easily enough, I was hardly in any danger at all,” he tries to assure his father, at least peripherally acknowledging that it won’t stop either of his parents from going over this story between themselves and worrying very persistently about their son. “It was quite simple, actually.”

“I offered to match the Empire’s bounty and promised a reward for bringing me back to you,” he explains, giving in to his nerves and playing with his father’s fingers like he did when he was a boy, when he would marvel at the strange hands of an adult compared to his own. “We agreed that it would be less suspicious if he returned me while I was unconscious and our agent checked the drug before it was administered. Nobody fired a single shot.”

“I wasn’t in any danger,” he insists knowing he won’t be believed, but wanting to say the words anyway.

His father sighs, shoulders slumping as he bows his head over Luke’s hands. It’s not quite relief, what his father feels, because Luke knows that Bail Organa is familiar enough with his son’s gift for the understatement to know that he wasn’t being told the full story. Luke can only imagine what his father believes to have happened without Luke’s gratuitous editing. Certainly he will fear how many times Luke had a blaster pointed directly at his heart.

“I’m glad,” his father says, leaning forward to press a kiss against Luke’s forehead. “After you and our agent both returned to the ship, I didn’t have the time to question him before we had to transfer him to the _Profundity_ , all I had was the bounty hunter’s word.”

“Did the Captain get on alright?” He asks, regretting that he hadn’t had enough time to speak more with the man.

“Yes,” his father nodded, smiling fondly down at him. “Captain Andor wished to relay his thanks personally for your bravery and dedication to getting him away free—his words, not mine; there’s no need to be humble now— but with circumstances being what they are, you will have to settle for renewing your acquaintance when we are next at Dantooine.”

Luke finally allows himself to relax at that, sinking back into the plush pillows of the med bay and letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders.

“I’m glad.”

“The bounty hunter also left you a message,” his father continues, nodding to the datapad he had been studying before Luke had woken up.

“Reading my mail, father?” Luke teases, trying to sound reproachful and failing as his father grins indulgently back at him. “Well, what did it say?”

“It’s his comm code, and the message reads: _if you’re ever in need of another rescue_.”

Luke snorts at that, rolling his eyes. 

The flash of attitude is rewarded with the sound of his father’s laughter, lightening his mood and loosening the knot of misery that had formed around his heart. They laugh together for a moment, unable to stop themselves, and Luke basks in the feeling of simple love and joy that suffuses the air around them.

“Was the intel useful?” He can’t help but ask once they’ve both calmed down, still smiling at each other.

“The intel?” His father asks, tilting his head.

“Yes, Captain Andor’s intel?” Luke says, frowning slightly as his father shook his head.

“No, I never received it,” he says and Luke blinks at that, slowly shaking his head in turn.

“No, I had it—” he says, lifting his hand and twisting his wrist back and forth so his bracelet caught the light. Still frowning, he untangles his other hand from his father’s fingers and unlocks the silver bracelet on his left forearm, quickly retrieving the data chip that was still tucked inside the secret compartment.

Holding it out to his father, he can’t help but laugh at the startled expression on his face. Of course Bail Organa, one of the co-founders of the Rebellion, hadn’t thought to search for vital intelligence his son may have been carrying because he was unconscious and he was worried for his health.

Shaking his head and unable to stifle his snickering he waves the data chip at his father again. “Maybe you should take it to the command deck?”

“Yes!” His father says, springing up onto his feet with a laugh.

Leaning down to once again press a kiss against Luke’s forehead, he takes the data chip from his hand, shaking his head and smiling ruefully as he looks down at it.

“Thank you, Luke,” his father says, so intolerably sincere that he can feel himself blushing.

“I only did what any agent of the Rebellion would have done,” he says, trying for earnest seriousness and landing somewhere closer to flustered bashfulness.

Still smiling fondly, his father bows to him with all possible candor, only causing Luke’s blush to intensify. “Get some rest, Your Highness. You’ve more than earned it.”

And without allowing him time to think of a witty riposte, his father sweeps out of the med bay, leaving Luke to huff after him, arms crossed over his chest in a mocking approximation of a sulk. Following the sound of his father’s footsteps to the end of the hall and then beyond the bay doors, Luke drops the act when he’s sure he won’t be heard and gives in to the urge to giggle childishly into his hands, feeling almost high with relief.

Eventually calming enough to relax back into the bed, Luke turns onto his side and gets comfortable. No doubt the medics would want to keep an eye on him, after he was drugged, and it wasn’t worth the nagging to try and go back to his own cabin without anyone noticing him. Exhaling softly, his eyes catch on the datapad still resting on the bedside table as he tucks his hair—free from his usual circlet—behind his ear.

Unable to resist, he reaches over and activates the screen, reading the bounty hunter’s message again.

Logically, he knows he should just delete it. Boba Fett was dangerous, and he clearly took pleasure in that fact. And he’d already shown a proclivity for answering to the call of money over all else. Men like that were not the kind of people his parents would approve of him keeping in contact with. 

But on the other hand—

On the other hand, he _was_ a bounty hunter. And he didn’t have any compunctions working against the Empire if he was being paid. _And_ clearly he was biddable when it came to possibly doing it again.

A man like that, while distasteful, was certainly useful. As they’d found out today. 

Well, Luke thinks to himself as he forwards the comm code to his own personal unit, the bounty hunter _had_ offered his services again.

It would be a waste of valuable resources to disregard an opportunity like _that_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you see any errors, please let me know— I am posting this at [checks time] 5:40am 😩
> 
> Also— I am on tumblr as babzilla!


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